


endearment

by jinkandtherebels



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28073046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinkandtherebels/pseuds/jinkandtherebels
Summary: Seeing Achilles and Patroclus together gets Zagreus thinking about certain things.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Hades Video Game), Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 468





	endearment

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not end up writing a new ThanZag fic every time I'm wracked with guilt over accidentally advancing the Meg romance route. This is fine.
> 
> Uhh contains mild spoilers for the end of the main storyline, bigger spoilers for (I assume) the end of the Achilles storyline, and Thanatos's favor. Think that's everything, and hope y'all enjoy!

.

Patroclus isn’t muttering darkly to himself when Zagreus stumbles across his little corner of Elysium. This is a new enough development that he skids to a halt for a moment, confused, before he hears the low murmurs of a second voice and remembers.

It’s still something of a shock to crest the hill and see Achilles here—not propping up a wall in the west wing of the House, but standing at his lover’s side. His smiles are warmer here, Zagreus thinks; he never used to notice the wistfulness in them, but now the difference is obvious. He looks like a man finally made whole.

It’s Achilles who notices him first and lifts a hand in greeting as Zagreus approaches them. Patroclus still isn’t one for smiling often, but Zagreus likes to think the nod he gives is slightly less rigid than it used to be. He’s optimistic that way.

“You’re getting quicker at this, lad,” Achilles observes. “Take care you don’t make escaping look too easy. Your lord father may take it as an insult.”

“He takes everything as an insult,” Zagreus says dryly. “Up to and including the fact that I still draw breath.”

(He’s joking. Mostly. They’re working on it—mostly by beating one another to death at least once daily, but he’s pretty sure that counts as father-son bonding as far as the gods are concerned.)

He clears his throat. “I’m still not used to seeing you up here, sir. It’s a strange feeling.”

Achilles smiles again. “Lord Hades has been generous, and so have you. I come as often as I am able.”

“But not quite often enough,” Patroclus murmurs. There’s less bitterness in it than Zagreus might have expected, considering.

Still, he knows how to take a hint. “I won’t keep either of you, then.”

Patroclus begins to spread out his usual wares. Zagreus grows distracted in the meantime. Seeing the two of them together, it’s—he doesn’t really have anything to compare it to, unless it’s two planets orbiting each other instead of the sun. As if there’s some kind of unique gravity between them. Patroclus reaches absently for something that Achilles is already holding out. Achilles begins a story and Patroclus supplies details, their voices weaving effortlessly together, forming the picture whole.

They’re so _easy_ with one another, in a way Zagreus isn’t used to witnessing. Even his parents, deep in the process of rebuilding their shattered marriage, have never given off much of an air of softness. He wonders—unkindly, maybe—whether this might be a better relationship to emulate.

“Well?” Patroclus’s voice interrupts his reverie. “What will it be today, stranger?”

And maybe because he’s preoccupied, or maybe because he suddenly finds himself missing a certain chthonic god terribly, Zagreus finds himself saying, “The Kiss of Death, please.”

He realizes his mistake immediately. Achilles does an admirable job of keeping his expression neutral, but Patroclus raises an eyebrow with devastating eloquence.

“Something on your mind?” he asks.

“I—not in particular, no,” Zagreus replies, aware that the attempt is somewhat ruined by the fact that his ears are going red. “The Kiss of Styx, sir, if you please.”

“Oh, is that it?” Patroclus sounds mild, but there’s a glint in his eye that says otherwise. Zagreus is contemplating the merits of just bolting for the nearest door when Achilles reaches out to put a hand on Patroclus’s shoulder, laughter in his eyes.

“Go easy on him, beloved,” Achilles says. “I think Zagreus is suffering enough without your teasing.”

(The word he uses is _philtatos_ —most beloved—and the irony in Patroclus’s expression is instantly drowned in fondness. Zagreus feels an unaccountable ache at the look that passes between them.)

“All right, all right.” Patroclus offers the silver chalice for Zagreus to drink from. “Your Kiss of Styx, stranger.”

“You could call me by name, you know,” Zagreus points out, taking the draught. “It’s not as if you don’t know it by now.”

“I could,” Patroclus agrees, but does not elaborate. Zagreus has the strong feeling he’s being teased again.

“Go on, lad,” Achilles says. “The Champions of Elysium await you.”

Zagreus makes a face. “Don’t suppose I could convince Theseus to fight in silence, do you?”

Their laughter follows him into the next chamber.

.

He’s in Elysium again, however long later, when green light fills the room and the toll of a funeral bell rings out. Zagreus tries not to light up too obviously, but he suspects he fails.

“Than!” he calls, grinning wide enough that his face hurts, and yes, he’s definitely failed at not being obvious. Whatever. It’s been a while.

Thanatos, typically, shows no such signs of being eager to see him—nothing except for the slightest softening around his eyes. Zagreus doubts anyone else would notice it.

“Zagreus,” he says with a nod. “Shall we deal some death together?”

Ah, the romance of it all. Zagreus barely remembers anything of the room once they’re done; he tore through so many greatshields and longspears he lost count after a while, and not a single one managed to scratch him.

(He’s wearing Than’s keepsake, as it happens, the pierced butterfly glittering over his breastbone, so that’s a good enough explanation for why he moves so quickly. It’s certainly not that he wants to show off or anything like that.)

“You’ve gotten stronger again,” Thanatos remarks as the dust settles. He offers the usual centaur heart. Zagreus takes it.

“Well, what can I say?” he replies. “You’ve been gone a long time; I was bound to figure a few things out.”

He means it as a gentle ribbing, but Than’s perpetual frown deepens.

“I’ve been…busy.”

Zagreus holds up his hands. “You don’t need to explain it to me. You’re Death, I get that. It’s not as if anyone else could do your job.” He’s told himself this, alone and bored in his chambers, a potentially embarrassing number of times.

“No,” Thanatos agrees. “But I do wish—” He stops there. Shakes his head. “Never mind. I need to go.”

Zagreus has heard that phrase, too, a ridiculous number of times. Somehow it always seems to come when they’re on the cusp of having some important conversation, and he’s abruptly tired of it. Before he can think better of it, Zagreus reaches out and catches Than’s fingers with his own.

Thanatos could still leave. He is Death Incarnate: of course something as small as a touch could never hold him in one place.

But maybe Zagreus managed to startle him a little, because he looks down at their hands and blinks and doesn’t disappear immediately. Zagreus tries to take advantage of his momentary distraction.

“Than,” he says, quiet—and then freezes, because he didn’t actually have a plan here.

It’s just that his thoughts have been churning over something ever since he saw Achilles and Patroclus together, the soft smiles and careless touches and _go easy on him, beloved_ , and the way that the both of them now seem…diminished, somehow, when he sees them alone. Two halves of a whole, Achilles had called them. For all the hurt and all the time they’d spent apart, to Zagreus’s eyes they’ve come back together as easily as breathing.

Is it unforgivably selfish to long for just a little of that ease?

 _I love you. I love you. I meant it when I said I would wait for you, however long it took_. The words stick in his throat and refuse to come out. He really doesn’t want to know what his face looks like.

Than’s face, on the other hand, flickers through a number of expressions—all gone too fast for Zagreus to even make a pass at reading them—before settling on mild exasperation.

“What are you doing, Zag?” he finally asks.

Zagreus sighs, frustrated with himself, and lets go of his hand.

“You know, I’m not really sure,” he answers, trying for lightness. “Maybe I’ll have figured it out by the next time I see you.”

Than doesn’t look overly convinced. “Well…try not to let it distract you too much.”

(There’s a particularly sharp edge to the words that Zagreus has learned to interpret as meaning, _don’t die_. That’s something, he thinks.)

He expects Than to vanish in short order, as always, and Zagreus is feeling more worn down than this chamber really should have merited. He leans against a half-crumbled pillar, tipping his head back against the marble and letting his eyes close for a moment.

A cool mouth presses softly, briefly, against his.

Zagreus opens his eyes and finds his surprise mirrored in Than’s face.

(Thanatos is not cold, no matter the impression he gives off to others, but he’s never once offered any kind of affection out here. He prefers to keep his work separate from—whatever they are when they’re alone together, and aside from the occasional flirting Zagreus has respected his wishes on that front. So this is…new.)

“I really do need to go now,” Than blurts out, and he’s gone in a flash of green before Zagreus can so much as say his name.

The silence of the chamber is so loud it seems to echo. He can still feel the phantom press of Than’s lips on his. _The Kiss of Death_ , Zagreus thinks, and lets out a burst of disbelieving laughter.

So maybe Zagreus isn’t the only one here with no clue what he’s doing. Somehow, that is a comforting thought.

.

The surface world bleeds him dry just as it always does, and for once Zagreus doesn’t feel like trying to outrun the inevitable.

Instead he sits in the snow and makes himself comfortable on the cliff’s edge, looking out over an ocean still veiled in night’s darkness. He’s gotten used to appreciating Nyx’s gifts for their practicality; he sometimes forgets his foster mother is capable of creating beautiful things as well.

But there is even greater beauty to come. Zagreus hasn’t stopped to watch the sunrise in a while, but he fixed this spot in his memory for a reason—and he’s rewarded with a flawless view of Helios and his chariot ascending past the horizon line, bathing the world in glittering pink.

He reaches into his chiton absentmindedly, fingers brushing against Mort’s age-softened fabric. A thought occurs to him. He’s never tried summoning him before on the surface, but…well, why not give it a try? Maybe mortals have eased off a little on the dying by now. He holds on to the stuffed mouse more tightly.

“Than?” he tries.

“I’m here,” Thanatos replies from behind him.

Zagreus tips his head back with a grin. “Oh good, it worked. Sit with me?”

Than glowers. “Somehow I get the feeling you’re not actually in danger right now.”

He scoffs. “Don’t be absurd, can’t you see I’m dying?”

“And what am I supposed to do about that?” Than asks, dry as a bone.

“Sit with me,” Zagreus repeats patiently. Then, after a moment’s consideration, “And maybe let me lean on you a little. Staying upright is becoming something of an issue.”

Thanatos sighs, but it’s a sigh of resignation, not real irritation. Zagreus has learned how to tell the difference.

“All right,” he says.

To Zagreus’s surprise, Than actually settles down next to him, letting Zagreus lean against his shoulder. (It’s vastly more comfortable than lying in the cold snow.) They watch the sun’s slow ascent in silence. Zagreus can feel his body beginning to shut down, but he isn’t overly concerned about it.

“It’s gorgeous up here,” he murmurs.

“Even if it kills you every time?” Thanatos asks quietly. _Is it worth it?_ goes unsaid.

“Even if,” Zagreus says. He smiles. “Maybe you’d see it more if you could slow down once in a while.”

Than snorts. “Coming from you, that’s impressively hypocritical.”

“Hey now, no insulting the dying man.” Zagreus sighs. “Anyway. That’s why I called you here, I think. I wanted you to see this.”

“It is beautiful,” Thanatos admits. “But I’ve seen plenty of sunrises, you know.”

Zagreus manages to huff out a laugh. “Figures. You might at least pretend that this one is vastly superior to all the others.”

“It is.” Than pauses very briefly. “Must be the company.”

“Must be,” Zagreus says after a moment, trying not to sound like something in his chest region has just turned to mush.

He wants so badly to kiss him, but his vision is going alarmingly black. It’s probably the dying, Zagreus thinks. Or maybe it’s the staring at the sun—he’s heard rumors that you’re not really supposed to do that.

But even being the connoisseur of dying that he is, Zagreus is fairly certain it’s impossible to die of embarrassment. At the very least he hasn’t found a way to do so _yet_. And that puts a lot of things in perspective.

He gives up on keeping his eyes open, since they’re not working anyway. Instead he reaches up and brushes his fingers against the short hair at the nape of Than’s neck, gets a subtle shiver in response. It really is easy, this kind of touch, he realizes. He ought to do it more often.

“Zagreus?”

Thanatos is probably going to puncture the moment with something unfortunate like, _are you really on the verge of death or did you exaggerate so you could use me as a pillow_ , and the thought would make Zagreus laugh again if he had the breath for it, but he doesn’t.

“Just…take me home, love,” he murmurs instead.

(That comes out easily too, in the end. Zagreus can’t really remember why he’d thought it wouldn't.)

It’s too bad that he can’t see Than’s face. But his voice is rich with warmth when he answers, the last words Zagreus hears before dying again:

“I’ll see you at home.”

.

(Later, in bed, they talk about it.

“You know, I could call you that more often if—” He stops at the pinched look on Than’s face. “Or maybe not? If you hated it, I mean.”

“I didn’t say I hated it,” Than mutters, avoiding his gaze. “It’s just very…obvious.”

Zagreus graciously decides not to mention that half of the Underworld and Olympus besides seems to know about them already—and _he_ certainly wasn’t the one telling people about it.

“Well,” he says, “it’s not like I’m going to stop calling you Than or anything. Certainly if you want to maintain the pretense of keeping work and this separate.” He grins, ignoring the way Than’s eyes narrow. “But I can’t promise I won’t toss the other one in sometimes.”

“It’s not as if I can stop you,” Than says, and Zagreus _thinks_ he’s trying to sound all dignified and long-suffering, but it’s not working very well.

Zagreus can’t quite make himself mention the other thing he’s figured out, which is that the way he says _Than_ and the way he says _love_ really aren’t much different, not if you’re listening properly.

It doesn’t matter. He gets the feeling Than knows.)


End file.
